The Beasts of Upton Puddle (5 page)

A woman even smaller than Mrs. Merrynether stood close to Redwar. Joe decided this must have been the puffing man's secretary, Ms. Burrowdown, whose appearance seemed to fit her name. She resembled a mole in human form wearing glasses with lenses as thick and wide as the bottoms of pint glasses. Even with such magnification, her eyes were mere slits, and it appeared she was straining her neck with maximum effort to scrutinize Joe. In her tiny hands she clutched a notepad
and pen that looked as if they might spring into the air if she relaxed her grip.

Archy the pig stood in a doorway directly behind the counter. His curly tail wiggled, and his ears perked up at the sight of a new and exciting entrant.

Joe looked at the peculiar group and could not stop an involuntary snort of laughter. Whether it was amusement or nerves, he was unsure, but the result was a hush that smothered even the silence accompanied by the staring. Fortunately that silence was brief. Brief because Mr. Redwar was not about to allow such an intrusion to be overlooked.

“Something amuses you, boy?”

“I . . . er . . .” Joe fumbled for a reply but was quickly rescued by a recognizable voice from a hidden source.

“Ah! Well, you're makin' me laff, fatty! Anyone wit a nose loik dat ought not underloin it wit whiskers.”

The awkward silence descended once again, and for a few tense seconds, all eyes were still locked on Joe as he bit down on another laugh.

Redwar, shocked and outraged, could not contain his temper. “Who said that? Who's there?”

But the cluricaun made no more taunts.

“I will not be mocked in this way, Merrynether,” Redwar said. “I came here in good faith to offer you a very reasonable resolution to our mutual problem, and you choose to respond in a most unprofessional manner. Now, either accept my generous terms or cooperate with
my solicitors. Your only other alternative is to submit to the authorities, and neither of us want that, do we?”

The response was equally resolute. “Firstly, Mr. Redwar, I need do nothing of the kind. There is no mutual problem. The problem is yours alone; I am perfectly within my rights to stay here. And secondly, shouting and ranting is not something
I
would deem to be professional conduct. If you continue in this manner, I will be the one who calls the police. Do I make myself clear?”

Ms. Burrowdown wagged her pen at Mrs. Merrynether. As the woman spoke, Joe realized it was not the door that had prevented him from hearing what she had to say earlier. “You shud beshamed self. Mr. Redwar only try telp people.”

“What?” Redwar turned on her. “How many times do I have to tell you? Speak up, woman!” He turned back to the counter, placed a great sausage finger on a brown envelope, and shoved it closer to Mrs. Merrynether. “You have no more than two weeks for a satisfactory reply. Redwar Industries is the fastest-growing industry in this country, and I do not take kindly to obstructions of its progress. Do
I
make myself clear?”

“I'll not open it,” she said, pushing the envelope back.

Redwar leaned over the counter, using his full bulk to look as intimidating as possible. “I think you will, Merrynether. In fact”—he appeared to be making the decision there and then as he pointed a threatening finger
at her face—“I'll not leave here until I see you reading it.”

Redwar had gone one step too far for one of the observers. At the sight of the threat leaning over the counter, Archy squealed, raced from the doorway, and charged with head bowed at his unsuspecting victim. The hairy head connected with Redwar's leg, producing a satisfying thud, and the bulky man staggered back with a cry of shock. Archy squealed again and prepared for another charge.

Redwar regained his balance, grabbed Ms. Burrowdown by the arm, and moved with unexpected speed for the door.

Archy stopped short at a command from Mrs. Merrynether, but the deed was done and the startled duo were already out of sight.

Redwar's angry but wheezing retort sounded from the grounds outside. “Two weeks, Merrynether . . . Two weeks!”

After a long sigh of relief, she replied, “Obnoxious oaf.”

“That was Argoyle Redwar? The man who owns that massive factory behind Ringwood Forest?”

“Quite so, Joseph, but please don't concern yourself with that unfortunate conversation. It was most unprofessional of him to approach me like that.”

Joe was about to ask what it was all about anyway when Mrs. Merrynether's expression suddenly sharpened. She glanced about and waved a fist. “And you're not helping matters either, Lilly. Making Mr. Redwar angry will only make things worse.”

“Ah, stoff 'im. If 'e comes back again, oi'l climb up 'is trouser leg and boite 'is—”

“So, Joseph,” Mrs. Merrynether said, “this is your second week in my service. I'm very pleased to see that you've returned. Are you ready for the next list?”

Joe measured her expression. Either she had an expert poker face or she suspected nothing about the events of last Sunday. Whichever, he decided it would seem suspicious if he didn't at least ask about Redwar's antagonist.

“Mrs. Merrynether, who's Lilly?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Oh, dear, I was so hoping to avoid this . . . See what you've done, Lilly?” She stabbed a finger toward Joe while addressing the ceiling. “One more word out of place, and I'll set Archy on you.”

The cluricaun remained silent.

With a satisfied shrug, Mrs. Merrynether returned her attention to Joe. A curious twinkle flashed in her eyes. Her look stretched into a gaze and then to a penetrating stare. And all the while, as Joe's vision tunneled on Mrs. Merrynether's face, the strange sense of premonition he experienced when he first met her returned with all the mystique of a long lost destiny tapping at the edge of his soul.

“Tell me, Joseph, do you think you are special?”

The question jolted him but not enough to dampen the atmosphere.

“Isn't everyone special?”

“Ah, yes. But there's special and there's . . .
special
. Do
you
think you're special?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Well, to be special you have to think you're special. Some people will say that you're arrogant if you dare to think of yourself that way, but did you know, Joseph, that to be special is a choice? That's all it is.”

Joe smiled.

“I'm perfectly serious. Do you know what an epiphany is?”

Joe shook his head.

The old woman gently placed her hands upon his shoulders. Her voice lowered almost to a whisper. “Then I'll tell you. There comes a time in a person's life when that choice to be special hits them square between the eyes. It's a wonderful moment but a terrible moment too. Most people look away and go back to their boring lives, frightened of what might happen, but some people . . . some people
seize
that moment and see life for what it really is.
That's
an epiphany, Joseph.”

She paused, squeezing his shoulders a little tighter. “You're a little younger than most, but I have a feeling about you, and I'm giving you the chance to seize the moment right now. How do you feel about that?”

Joe was breathless and more than a little taken aback. He had no idea what she was talking about, but with such an overwhelming sense of fate and curiosity tugging at his innards, Joe knew there was only one choice
to be made. “You mean right now, as in . . .
right
now?”

“Most certainly. I think you can be trusted, and I know Lilly likes you.”

“Do not!”

Joe ignored the voice. “Here?”

“Not quite. As a matter of fact, it's through a door in my cellar. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Then follow me.”

And with that, Mrs. Merrynether took one of Joe's hands and led him out of the room.

Instinctively, Joe knew exactly where they were heading.

Fragrances, whether foul or fair, often have the effect of bringing past events to the forefront of one's thoughts with startling clarity. That was exactly the experience Joe had when he stepped back into Mrs. Merrynether's cellar. Anxiety and wonder wrestled within him as he breathed the same peculiar odors that greeted him the first time he set foot there.

Mrs. Merrynether muttered curses over a set of rusty keys as she hunched before the ominous red door. Joe glanced around, reacquainting himself with the cellar, and his gaze settled on the wooden cage at the center of the room. It was empty. He knew it would be, but the clear evidence that he'd aided the escape of a mad Irish midget knotted his stomach. A fresh impulse to come clean about his part in the affair ballooned within him but was quickly deflated by an exclamation from the old woman.

“Ah! Here we are. Key nine—always forget.”

She inserted the key, turned it, and opened the door. A set of stone steps, at least forty of them, beckoned them farther underground and Mrs. Merrynether led the way in silence to another red door. With her fingers on the handle, she paused and looked at Joe over the top of her spectacles.

“Your epiphany awaits. Are you ready?”

“I—”

“Too bad if you aren't. It's coming anyway.” And without delay, she pushed the door open to reveal not a cupboard or a storeroom but a huge vault, much larger than the cellar they had just left. Merrynether walked in, stepped to one side, and watched Joe with obvious anticipation.

Joe edged inside, slightly stooping, mouth agape and eyes wide as though he had stepped onto holy ground.

Stone walls, almost hidden by a vast array of shoddy crates, tall cages, and a host of old unfamiliar machinery, stretched out far ahead of him. At regular intervals along the vault, dusty shafts of sunlight filtered through latticed hatchways in the high ceiling, providing just enough illumination for a number of large pens. Joe caught teasing glimpses of shuffling shadows within most of them, but the enclosure closest to him was what really captured his attention.

It was the size of a small garden. Turf, grass, wildflowers, and ornamental rocks decorated it, and there
was even a quaint water feature trickling a gentle melody at the back. It was exactly the sort of sculptured display Joe had seen at a zoo he'd visited recently with his school. The animal on display in Merrynether's vault, however, was a completely different matter.

At first Joe thought he was looking at a tiger or a lion leaning against a pile of hot water bottles, fast asleep. But that, Joe realized, was his mind's instant attempt to make sense of what he was looking at; this beast was nothing like either of those animals. Sure, it had a silky coat and, yes, a large head with a shaggy mane, but most tigers have golden fur with black stripes. This beast's coat was dark red, mottled with black rings of various sizes, and glistened with a curious waxy sheen. But most of all, tigers are not usually known to have a set of enormous crimson-feathered wings.

A surge of excitement, starting from his toes and ending as a buzzing sensation tickling his scalp, caused Joe to suck in a long faltering breath. Discovering a cluricaun the previous week was astonishing enough, but somehow that tiny man with his thick Irish accent and human characteristics still seemed like something that could be explained away—like someone you'd see in the
Guinness World Records
or maybe at a carnival. But this? Whatever Joe was staring at now had trespassed well over the line separating fantasy from reality.

As if sensing Joe's awe, the creature lifted its head from its grassy pillow and looked directly at him. Joe's
first impression was of a cat waking lazily from a long sleep to make a halfhearted attempt at detecting what sort of noise had woken it. But Joe's breath halted in his lungs when he saw its features. The face, sharing the deep red tone of its fur, had undeniable human qualities. Nose, lips, ears, even the structure of its cheekbones and chin—all looked human. Even the eyes, though distinctly yellow with slitted catlike pupils, had a human quality about them—a hint of intelligence not normally seen in the expression of animals. The teeth, on the other hand, were not so human in form. The creature yawned, unhinging a set of interlocking fangs that looked like they could rip through a car and then chomp on it as if it were a Gummy Bear. For several seconds, the creature proudly displayed the depths of its cavernous throat. A curious melodic sound gargled outward, as if it had swallowed a drowning opera singer. After a lick of its lips with a black, forked tongue, it snapped its mouth shut and stared nonchalantly at Joe.

“He's a little worse than yesterday,” said Mrs. Merrynether. “By this time, he's usually pacing around his pen expecting his supper.”

“Oh,” was all Joe could manage.

“Yes, in fact he hardly ate a thing yesterday. If I can't diagnose his problem soon, I have grave concerns about my ability to treat him at all.”

The creature flopped its head down, releasing a deep sigh.

Mrs. Merrynether walked to the wall next to the
pen and pulled on a length of rope. A metallic rumbling sounded from nearby, and through a hatch in the roof, several lumps of raw meat came tumbling out.

“Cornelius?” called Mrs. Merrynether. “Din-dins.”

The beast didn't even lift its head. Instead it swooshed its long tail through the air as if annoyed by the disturbance and thwacked it down to the ground, sending up a spray of earth. Joe took a step back when he saw why the tail had made such a hard thump in the turf. Rather than a fur tip, the tail ended with a brown, pinecone-shaped growth, barbed with hundreds of long white needles.

“Mrs. Merrynether,” said Joe, finally finding his voice. “What
is
that?”

“I thought you'd never ask,” she said with a sly smile. “This species is known as Antathalicus respudicus Nimbrosii—better known to the world of mythology as . . . a manticore.”